Mass Effect: Reclamation
by reptilia28
Summary: The Reapers have been harvesting the organic races of the galaxy since time immemorial, but the galaxy is a big place; even they cannot cover everything. Within the myriad cracks they left, the Forerunners and humanity arose. What will happen when the UNSC encounters the numerous other races of the galaxy, just in time to witness the Reapers' return? AU. Post-H4/pre-ME1.
1. Greeting the New Neighbors

I own neither Halo nor Mass Effect.

* * *

**Reach – Epsilon Eridani System – 2612 CE**

"Good morning, and welcome to another beautiful summer day in Raikos!" the radio blared with the perpetually-happy voice of the morning radio personality. "The sun is shining brightly today and we have a northeasterly wind coming it at a lovely fifteen kilometers an hour. It's the perfect day to take your kids to the beach folks, so pack up your swimsuits and get moving! This is Daniel Whitten with the—" _SMACK!_ The voice was abruptly cut off when a hand reached out to roughly slam down on the radio. The hand was soon followed by its owner, a bleary-eyed man of African descent named David Anderson.

Anderson was a naval rear admiral in the United Nations Space Command, the governmental organization that served as humanity's scientific, exploratory, and martial arm. He was fifty-nine years old, though with modern medicine he could easily pass as someone fifteen years younger. Like many who joined the UNSC during his and the following generations, there was little of note in his military career except spearheading the exploration of several un-colonized systems, numerous routine patrols throughout the outermost colonies, and some notably high performance evaluations in combat exercises. This was because by the time he had joined and throughout his entire career, humanity had been in a rare period of peacetime.

Anderson went through his usual weekend morning routine: taking a shower to wash away the last lingering bit of exhaustion that still clung to him, brushing his teeth, and shaving the stubble that dotted his face. He prepared himself a bowl of cereal for breakfast and was just about to sit down to eat when his telephone rang. Wondering who would be calling him this early in the morning on a Saturday, Anderson grabbed the communicator and held it to his ear.

"Anderson speaking," he said simply.

"Rear Admiral Anderson, this is the office of Admiral Hackett calling," said the voice of a woman. Her voice carried a slight Hungarian accent, reflecting the dominant language of the colony. "I'm sorry to disturb your weekend, sir, but your presence is required at Újjáéledés Station at twelve-hundred hours." Anderson glanced at the clock; it currently read 08:37. It was less notice than he would have liked, but if he hurried, he would be able to make it to the space elevator with a couple of hours to spare.

"Understood, I'll be there," he eventually replied. After acknowledging his response, the woman hung up and left Anderson to hastily scarf down his now soggy breakfast before he put on his uniform and left his apartment to make his appointment. It was a Saturday, so the roads were fairly clear, but it still took almost an hour for him to drive to his destination, New Manassas.

New Manassas was the first city to be built on Reach after its surface had been destroyed via orbital bombardment in 2552. First established in 2585, the city was now one of Reach's several centers of travel and commerce. Millions of credits worth of cargo was shipped to and from the planet every day, as well as hundreds of troops and tourists arriving and departing. This was in no small part due to the space elevator that stood in the center of the city. An enormous column of rings and cables reaching into the sky, the space elevator has always stood as a shining monument to human ingenuity. At the peak of the cable, orbiting nearly 75,000 kilometers above the planet was the Újjáéledés Space Station.

As a high ranking officer, Anderson had priority passage onto the next military transport up the elevator. Because of the vast distance that the lift would have to travel, it would still take over an hour to reach Újjáéledés Station. The quality amenities that the UNSC saw fit to provide were cold, uncomfortable steel benches, several old magazines in various states of disrepair, and a vending machine that provided chips, cookies, and other assorted junk food while an adjacent machine provided soft drinks. It was hardly luxurious, but it kept the people fed and not totally bored, which was more than enough for government standards.

Anderson procured himself a snack before finding a seat near the window. As he watched the city steadily shrink below him, his mind began to wander. Though his career had been altogether rather boring, he acknowledged the fact that, had he been born just a few years earlier, he might not have even lived to complain about it today.

Almost one hundred years ago, humanity found itself in a bitter war against a conglomeration of alien races known as the Covenant, a war that humanity was steadily losing. One by one whole worlds were put to the torch, until eventually only Earth and a few outlying colonies that the Covenant had felt was not worth the time exterminating remained; had there not been a great schism within the Covenant during the final days of the war, they would have no doubt succeeded in annihilating humanity entirely.

Even though the Covenant had been broken, there were still fragments that clung to the old doctrine; the greatest of these Covenant Remnants led by the alien terrorist Jul 'Mdama. With the separatists having collapsed under their own instability, humanity found itself alone against those who would still see them dead. They licked their wounds and began to rebuild themselves, keeping ever vigilant for the Remnants while also searching for artifacts that had would help humanity's growth and ensure its place in the galaxy. It was during these exploration missions that humanity discovered Requiem, an artificial Shield World constructed by the Forerunners, advanced alien precursors that the Covenant revered as gods.

What humanity did not know was that Requiem was not only a habitat, but also a prison. The humans accidentally freed Requiem's prisoner, a mad Forerunner known simply as the Didact, who proceeded to launch an assault on Earth to destroy its inhabitants. Though the Forerunner was defeated, he still managed to attack the city of New Phoenix, killing nearly two million people in a single blow.

Though the Didact was dead, his army of Prometheans, once humans who were forcibly converted into robotic warriors and subsequently driven mad by the process, still remained on Requiem, now under 'Mdama's control. The UNSC continued to send troops to purge the Shield World of the occupying Covenant Remnants as well as its Promethean custodians. After almost three years, the UNSC emerged victorious; Jul 'Mdama had been slain and Requiem – along with all the Prometheans within – was destroyed. Their prize was a map that led to the entirety of the Forerunners' legacy spread across the galaxy; though only a small handful out of hundreds of locations had been discovered, what was found had advanced humanity's technology by centuries. Ship schematics gave insights into how to improve the speed of their own ships, allowing them to cross the galaxy at previously unattainable speeds. Advances in armor, medical, and personal shield technologies had rendered the processes to augment and equip soldiers into the elite Spartan super-soldiers to the point that within fifty years, their predecessors the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers had been phased out entirely in favor of Spartans, as well as extending the estimated lifetime of humans by nearly a century.

Anderson was brought out of his musings by the slight lurching sensation of the elevator platform decelerating as it approached Újjáéledés Station. Once the lift had come to a stop and the doors opened, he stepped into the throng of people milling about the station. Weaving his way through the crowd, Anderson stepped up to a map of the facility similar to what one would find in a shopping mall or airport.

"Greetings, citizen!" the station's Artificial Intelligence cried out in the voice of a cheerful young woman. "How may I assist you today?" she asked.

"I need directions to meet with Admiral Hackett," Anderson stated clearly.

"One moment please," the AI requested. After a few seconds' passage, she spoke again. "Admiral Steven Hackett is currently located in Conference Room Twenty-Four. Travel straight for four hundred meters. Then take the elevators to the fifth level. Then walk straight for two hundred meters before turning right. Continue for another one hundred meters. Conference Room Twenty-Four will be on your right." As the AI spoke, the holographic map plotted out a course to his destination for his convenience. Anderson stared for a few seconds to memorize the route before he thanked the guide and left. "Have a pleasant day!" she declared as he walked away.

Anderson had little difficulty finding his destination. Even if he could not remember the exact room number he was looking for, it was the only one in the hallway that had two marines standing vigil at the door. When Anderson approached, both guards snapped to attention and raised a salute to their superior.

"At ease, soldiers," the rear admiral said as he returned the salute. Both guards immediately shifted into a more relaxed but still vigilant posture. "I'm here to meet with Admiral Hackett," he announced as he passed his identification to one of the guards for inspection.

"You're here early, but the Admiral's expecting you, sir," the guard said as he inspected the ID card. Satisfied with what he saw, he passed the card back to its owner while his partner reached over and opened the door for Anderson. "Go right ahead, sir." Thanking the marine, Anderson walked into the conference room; there was only one other occupant in the room.

"Admiral," Anderson greeted as he held his hand to his temple in salute. The other man stood up and returned the salute.

"Rear Admiral," he greeted in return. Admiral Stephen Hackett was an imposing man of seventy-six years. His face was tanned and seemed to be carved from weathered stone; a scar ran across his right cheek. "Have a seat," he requested as he returned to his own. Once Anderson sat down across from him, Hackett slid a data pad across the table to his guest. "I'm sure you've heard about the device we discovered in S4J-469?" he asked, to which Anderson nodded.

S4J-469 was the latest system that the UNSC had explored in its efforts to reestablish humanity's previous expansive empire. The system was too recently discovered to merit more than a serial number for a name. The only rocky planet in the system was only 100 million kilometers away from its Sol-like star, far too close for any colonization efforts. There was a rather thick asteroid field that the UNSC was interested in exploiting for minerals. But the most interesting find was a massive device orbiting a small gas planet on the edge of the system. All the initial surveyors could determine of the device was that it was big – slightly more than fifteen kilometers in length – apparently dormant, judging by the lack of any sort of energy readings coming from it, and not designed by the Forerunners or the Covenant.

"Well, the eggheads figured out what it does," Hackett continued. "While the science team was scanning it apparently they accidentally turned it on, because they said it started glowing and spinning. One of the ships happened to be cruising next to it when it activated. The scientists then reported that the vessel…" he paused to quote from the report before him, "'…was struck by lightning before disappearing in a flash of blue light,' end quote." No longer needing it for the moment, Hackett set the report aside. "At first they thought it was a weapon of some sort, until a few minutes later when they received a message from the missing vessel – twenty-eight hundred light years away." This caused Anderson to look up from his own report, shock clearly evident on his face. Even the fastest vessels in the UNSC fleet would take nearly two days to cross that great a distance. For a device to send a ship that far in only a few minutes could revolutionize space travel.

"While this is definitely ground-breaking, I don't see why I was called here just for this," the rear admiral said in confusion.

"I'm getting to that," Hackett replied patiently. "After the lost ship made it back, we launched a squadron of unmanned reconnaissance drones to make a rough survey of the system on the other side," he continued to explain. "Eight days ago, we lost contact with one of those drones. Normally we would assume it was mechanical failure, or that it had run into a freak meteor, but then we started losing contact with the other drones. The last one went dark three days ago. This could have happened due to an intense burst of radiation, like from a dying star, but we received no peaks in radiation levels before the drones went dark, which leaves one option."

"Something was shooting them down," Anderson concluded. Hackett nodded in agreement with his assessment.

"HIGHCOM is concerned that this could lead to eventual violence, so your job will be to make sure that that doesn't happen," the admiral said. "You will be leading the 137th through the device and try to establish peaceful contact with this unknown race. Hopefully, they'll be able to get over the fact that we'd unintentionally sent spy drones into their backyard. A First Contact package has already been compiled and sent to all the ships under your command."

"And if these aliens prove to be hostile, sir?" Anderson inquired.

"Then escape the system by any means necessary and warn us ASAP," Hackett said bluntly. "If there's another alien race out there hungering for human blood, then we'll be waiting for them. They're not going to sucker punch us like the Covenant did."

"I understand, sir," Anderson said as he stood up, data pad under his arm. "When do I leave?"

"Right now," Hackett replied as he too got to his feet, smoothing out his jacket. "HIGHCOM wants this dealt with as quickly as possible, so the ships are all ready and waiting. All that's left is you, Rear Admiral." Nodding in understanding, Anderson snapped off one final salute before making way with all haste to the shuttle that would ferry him to his ship.

The 137th Escort Flotilla was a flotilla that was primarily used as an escort for colony ships settling into new systems, as well as one of several used to patrol the outermost colonies. As it was assembled during peacetime, it was comprised of seven relatively old vessels: four 535-meter-long Paris-class heavy frigates, two 490-meter-long Avalon-class destroyers, and led by a single 1190-meter-long Marathon-class heavy cruiser. Each ship had at least one Magnetic Accelerator Cannon as its primary weapon, a massive coilgun that ran the length of each ship; each shot could deliver at least 64 kilotons of force.

The shuttle that Anderson was riding in soared towards the cruiser; he saw the words _Whisper To Me Softly_ painted in bold white letters across the hull of the massive ship. Once he had stepped out into the docking bay, he marched with a purpose to the control room of the ship, being saluted by every crew member he passed. The control room bustled with activity as its crew went through the final preparations for departure.

"Officer on deck!" a female voice announced. All the crew members immediately stood up from their stations and saluted Anderson. Once he returned the gesture and everyone resumed their duties, Anderson sat down in a chair next to the holographic table in the center of the room. "It's good to have you aboard, Rear Admiral," the voice said again as the golden image of a middle-aged woman wearing an officer's uniform appeared on the table, seemingly standing atop its surface. "I am Melinda, the AI of this vessel," she introduced herself with a slight bow of her head. "Systems are green across the board and all other vessels report the same. We are ready to disembark on your order, sir."

"Thank you, Melinda," Anderson said with a nod. "Helmsman, plot a course for S4J-469," he ordered.

"Aye, sir," the helmsman acknowledged as he proceeded to carry out his orders. Outside, magnetic anchors disengaged themselves from the ships' hulls, allowing the vessels to freely move away from their respective ports. Great engines thrummed with life as they propelled themselves away from Reach and into the outer regions of the system. Once the flotilla had gone far enough away from any colonies or celestial bodies, a single speck of light flickered in space, indistinguishable from any other star. A moment later, a massive, swirling vortex of light appeared as if the fabric of reality had been suddenly set aflame. This light was the gateway to an extradimensional realm referred to as Slipspace. With the newly-installed Slipspace generators aboard the ships that comprised the 137th, the flotilla could reach their destination in only three days real-time. Once the last of the seven ships had passed through the threshold, the portal closed, leaving behind no evidence that it had ever existed.

* * *

**System S4J-469 – Approx. 70 hours later…**

The peaceful atmosphere of nothingness within the system designated S4J-469 was abruptly broken by a blinding vortex of light. A moment later, the seven ships that comprised the 137th Escort Flotilla soared out from the portal, led by the _UNSC Whisper To Me Softly_.

"Sir, we'll be in range of the device in a few minutes," a crew member reported.

"Understood," Anderson grunted as he studied the image before him. Projected by the table was a 3-D map of the system. Two planets orbited the system's yellow star, a rocky planet roughly half the size of Earth and an Earth-sized gas planet near the edge of the system. Between the two was a vast asteroid field that comprised nearly half the system. Orbiting the gas planet was the device that they were currently heading towards. "Quite the sight," the rear admiral muttered to himself as he focused the map on the device itself. The device consisted of two arms 15 kilometers in diameter floating parallel to each other yet not actually touching. The arms bulged outwards in their rear third while the fronts tapered to twin points. Within the void left by the bulges were two rings that revolved lazily within each other, a mysterious blue light glowing from within them. The whole thing looked like a weapon from an antique science fiction vid; between its appearance and the suddenly vanishing research vessel, Anderson could understand why the research team initially thought it to be some sort of weapon.

"We are approaching the device, Rear Admiral," Melinda said as she appeared next to the object's image. "Would you like me to initiate the activation protocol?" she inquired.

"Do it," Anderson ordered. Melinda nodded once before her hologram flickered and vanished. The spinning of the rings began to increase in intensity. Several bolts of lightning lanced out from the machine's core and enveloped each ship in an aura of bright blue light. As the ships of the 137th flew alongside the device, electricity arced between the two arms and one by one, each ship disappeared in a blue flash. In the blink of an eye, the seven UNSC ships found themselves in an unknown system 2800 light years away.

"We have arrived, Rear Admiral," Melinda declared as her hologram reappeared. After a short beeping was heard, she added, "And we have company. I have just detected thirty ships approximately one hundred thousand kilometers from our current position."

"What?" Anderson gasped in shock. "All ships, full stop!" he yelled out. The relevant crew members hastened to carry out his command; the ships' inertial dampeners ensured that no one so much as flinched despite several hundred tons of metal cruising at several thousand kilometers per hour suddenly coming to a halt. "Melinda, what can you tell me about those ships?" he demanded.

"Well, I have good news and I have bad news," Melinda replied. "Which would you like first?"

"Give me the bad news," Anderson sighed as he cradled his head in his hands. _Might as well get it over with_, he thought.

"I cannot determine what weapons these ships have, or whether they are currently aimed at us," the AI reported. "I am not detecting any increases in energy emissions consistent with any of our weapons being charged. In fact, their emissions seem unusually _low_…" she added, mostly to herself before shaking herself from her musings. "But they may have weapons that we are not familiar with, and thus I cannot detect. And with them outnumbering us more than four-to-one, I would suggest we don't take any unnecessary risks."

"Agreed," Anderson said. "And the good news?" he asked.

"The good news is, these ships are quite small," Melinda said. As she spoke, images of the ships began to appear from the holographic projector. "The majority of the ships are only one hundred-fifty meters in length; the largest is only seven hundred." Anderson breathed a small sigh of relief. The aliens' welcoming fleet seemed to consist of primarily corvettes with a handful of frigates, but not a cruiser or dreadnought in sight. While thirty against seven was still unfavorable odds, Anderson was a bit more optimistic about his and his ships' survival than he was before. The alien ships' sleek, smooth curves initially reminded Anderson of the ships that were once used by the Covenant. As he examined them further, the distinct front section of the ships that bore a distinct resemblance to a head as well as several grasping devices protruding from the bottoms of the ships made him think instead that they looked like giant, mechanical insects. He wondered if the ships' design was indicative of the beings that crewed them.

"Are they doing anything?" he finally asked.

"No sir," Melinda replied. "I am detecting a lot of inter-fleet communications, though. My guess is they're trying to figure out what to do with us."

"Then we'd best offer our olive branch before they decide," Anderson said. "Transmit the First Contact package."

"Already done, sir," Melinda immediately said; for an AI like herself, such a task could be performed almost instantaneously. "Now we just have to hope that they like what they see."

* * *

Within the fleet of alien ships, innumerable bits of data flowed freely between the vessels every second as its occupants communicated with each other. The creators of these vessels were a race of artificial intelligences called the geth. Each geth "individual" was a runtime that recorded, analyzed, and transmitted data to the entire collective; the more runtimes that could be contained within a single vessel, the more intelligent the gestalt would become. There were 20,424,916 runtimes distributed within the thirty ships, and each one was abuzz with anticipation. When the drones first appeared in their system, the geth destroyed the intruders fearing that they were spies, or worse. A fleet was dispatched near the edge of the system to guard for more invaders. Nearly a week after the last drone was destroyed, a flotilla of ships appeared in the system.

"_Seven unidentified vessels have arrived through the Mass Relay_," reported Runtime 023-452-345-832, a program dedicated to observation. "_Sensors detect an unusually minute amount of Element Zero emanating from the vessels, too little to be generated by ships of that size._"

"**The lack of Element Zero is interesting,**" responded combat program Runtime 319-552-339-058. "**However,** **protocol is clear, all non-geth vessels entering the system are to be destroyed**,"

"_Objection_," another observation program, Runtime 441-566-792-681, interjected before any weapons could be readied. "_The vessels' profiles do not match those of any known Council affiliate or Terminus entity. The most logical conclusion is that they are a new spacefaring race._"

"**What is the point of this?**" asked Runtime 319….

"_This could be an opportunity for the geth to establish peaceful interaction with an organic race_," replied Runtime 441…. The implication of this was not lost on the other geth programs; virtually all intelligent races in the known galaxy feared and distrusted AIs, and thus the geth. If they could communicate with a new, unaffiliated race, then they could interact with organics without fear of hostile response for the first time in centuries.

"_**Based on analysis of past and current data, there is an estimated 97.32 percent probability that any interaction between the geth and this unknown race will end with violence**_," replied navigation program Runtime 801-441-923-641.

"_And yet they have not made any hostile actions against us_," Runtime 441… argued. What would take a committee of organic beings hours happened in minutes as arguments and rebuttals passed between the members of the geth collective. As will all decisions, the matter was eventually put to a vote; the final consensus was that until this new, unknown race proved hostile, the geth would not take any aggressive action.

"_We are receiving a transmission from the alien ships_," announced Runtime 023….

"What sort of transmission?" asked propulsion program Runtime 449-242-915-247. Milliseconds passed in silent anticipation as the package was scanned and analyzed.

"_Information_," Runtime 023… said. "_The package contains data on the aliens' – 'humans' – anatomy, mathematics, culture, and language. The purpose is obvious: they mean to establish peaceful contact with us_." Once again immeasurable amounts of data passed between the geth ships as the millions of programs debated this new information.

"_Consensus has been achieved,_" Runtime 441… declared. "_The geth will accept the humans' offer of peace. Runtime 023-452-345-832 stated that the contact package contained data on language. Please elaborate,_" the observation program demanded.

"_The package contains what appears to be information on vocabulary and grammar,_" Runtime 023… said. "_It appears to have been designed to ease communications between sender and recipient. The data has been analyzed and it is currently being synched to our current database of Galactic Basic. Synchronization is currently 35.53 percent complete._" Satisfied, the geth runtimes not devoted to language synchronization discussed what their first words with the humans would be.

* * *

The air within the _UNSC Whisper To Me Softly_ was thick with nervous tension. Almost 15 minutes had passed since Anderson had ordered the first contact package to be transmitted. The rear admiral was relieved that the aliens had not decided to turn their weapons on the human ships, the lack of any sort of response, even some sort of confirmation that they had received the data, made each passing minute more nerve-wracking.

"Sir, we are receiving a transmission from the alien ships," Melinda suddenly said, startling the weaker-nerved crew members.

"Patch it through," Anderson ordered, clenching his hand in anticipation. The room was filled with a cacophony of buzzes and clicks as the transmission was projected through the ship's speakers. After a few seconds of racket, a message came through in clear English.

"_Greetings, humans,_" the voice said. It had an odd mechanical echo, like the message had been generated by a computer and then layered over itself dozens of times before being transmitted. Anderson could still hear the clicking sound from before interlaced with the words. "_We are the geth. We have received your data, and we accept your offer of peace._" Cheers and hollers of joy echoed throughout the UNSC fleet as the crew heard the news. Anderson himself gave a mighty sigh and slumped in his chair, feeling as if a great weight had been lifted from his soldiers.

"All right, quiet down everybody," he ordered sternly, though his tone was undermined by the smile that threatened to split his face in two. After a few more minutes of celebration, the crew quieted down. "Melinda, open a channel to these…geth," he continued, momentarily hesitating at the aliens' name.

"Yes sir," Melinda said as she held up her hands. Her left hand had her fingers spread open while in the right she held a ball of red light. "You'll be live in five, four, three…" she counted down, lowering her fingers as she did so. Once she lowered her last digit, the light in her hand turned green, signaling that the channel was now open.

"Greetings," Anderson said, his voice bold and firm. "I am Rear Admiral David Anderson of the United Nations Space Command. I speak on behalf of all humanity when I say that I am overjoyed to hear you say that. To whom do I have the honor of speaking?" he asked.

"_We are geth,_" the aliens replied. This caused Anderson to frown in confusion; behind him, he could hear the other crew members begin to murmur amongst themselves as well.

"Yes, but who am I speaking to specifically?" the rear admiral asked.

"_We are all geth,_" the aliens replied. Anderson looked at Melinda, who simply shrugged in confusion; she was as confused as he was about the situation. "_Why have you entered our space?_" the geth asked before Anderson could continue his inquiries.

"We came to apologize for any distress that the drones that we sent into this system a week ago may have caused," Anderson explained. "We were unaware that this system was already inhabited. I have also been authorized by my government to establish friendly relations between our respective races, and cordially invite an ambassador of yours onto my ship for negotiations."

"_We accept your apology,_" the geth representative said. "_We also accept your invitation for negotiations. An envoy will be ready in forty-eight hours._"

"Very well," Anderson acquiesced. "Let us know when you're ready, and we'll transmit further instructions."

"We look forward to exchanging data," the geth gave a final response before terminating the connection. The crew looked at each other and muttered in confusion.

"So…" one of them began awkwardly, "we've got two days to kill…now what?"

Forty-eight galactic standard hours, as it turned out, was slightly more than 55 hours Earth-time. Once the geth sent a message declaring that their ambassador was ready, Anderson ordered Melinda to transmit the instructions that they had devised during their wait. The geth ambassador would fly to a position approximately halfway between the two fleets, where it would link up with a UNSC shuttlecraft. The ambassador would then board the shuttle and be ferried back to the _Whisper_ for negotiations. The whole process would take slightly more than two hours.

Anderson waited patiently in the hangar bay that the shuttle would dock in. The open bay door was covered by a shimmering blue shield that kept air and pressure in the room while allowing vessels entry and exit. To either side of the rear admiral were five Spartan-IVs, augmented super-soldiers that served as the UNSC's Special Forces. Some of the gifts left behind by the Forerunners were advanced armor manufacturing techniques, as well as medical augmentations. These advancements made the processes involved in creating Spartan-IVs cost-efficient enough that the Spartans' predecessors, the Orbital Drop Shock Troopers, were disbanded entirely and its members inducted into the Spartan-IV program. The shuttle drifted into the hangar bay and gracefully maneuvered itself so that its rear faced Anderson and his honor guard before setting down.

"The ambassador has arrived, Admiral," the pilot said, his voice transmitting into the earpiece that Anderson wore. "Just to let you know, this one's a bit…different than what we've seen before," the pilot warned.

"I appreciate the heads-up, soldier, now let our guest in," Anderson responded. The rear door of the shuttle slowly lowered with a hydraulic hiss. Once the door had lowered completely, the geth ambassador stepped out. Its body was a dark grey in color and generally humanoid in shape, with two arms to the side of its torso and two legs that curved backwards at the knee, almost like a bird's. Its hands and feet both possessed three digits. Its "head" was simply a long neck that curved forward before terminating in a single, glowing eye.

It was also entirely mechanical.

"Greetings," the machine said; its voice was a less resonant version of the alien voice from before, complete with faint clicking behind its speech, "we are the envoy of the geth. Are you Rear Admiral David Anderson?" it asked.

"I am," Anderson confirmed as he stepped forward, hand extended in greeting. "Welcome aboard the _UNSC Whisper To Me Softly_." The geth envoy looked down at the proffered hand, the flaps on its head rising slightly, before it hesitantly reached out and grasped Anderson's hand with its own, as if it was unsure of what to do and was simply copying the actions of the man before it.

"Sir," one of the Spartans said to Anderson, his external speakers deactivated so that no one could intrude, "I don't see anything on the robot's body that could be a weapon, and it'll be hard to scan for hidden weapons, for obvious reasons. I recommend caution when around it," the soldier warned.

"Please, follow me," Anderson beckoned. He made no obvious acknowledgement of the Spartan's warning; he did not need to. Anderson led the entourage, followed by two Spartans, who were in turn followed by the geth ambassador, with the rear comprising of the remaining honor guard. The room that Anderson chose for the meeting had a holographic table large enough to seat ten people. Anderson and the geth sat opposite of each other while the two front Spartans stood vigilant by the door. "When I spoke to your representative earlier, it said that you were all geth. What did it mean by that? What _are_ the geth?" the rear admiral asked in curiosity.

"The geth are a race of artificial intelligences," the mechanical being replied as its head flaps shifted. "Each individual geth program can process a certain, limited amount of data at once, but the more runtimes that are devoted to a single process, the more intelligent the whole becomes. When you spoke to the geth earlier, you were communicating with the entire local collective: 20,424,916 runtimes. This platform currently contains 1,183 runtimes," it continued, gesturing to its body.

"Damn," one of the Spartan guards muttered to herself, unheard by anyone else, "must get awfully noisy in there."

"If there are over a thousand geth program in your body, then how do you decide anything?" Anderson asked in confusion. "Do you designate a program to be the decision-maker?"

"No," the geth said. "The geth do not have individuals as organics understand them. As we said before, our intelligence is dependent on the presence of numerous runtimes operating in tandem; each individual runtime can only process a limited amount of data; whenever a choice is required to be made, all runtimes within the relevant platform analyze the data until a consensus is reached." Anderson furrowed his brow as he tried to wrap his mind around everything that he had just been told. "We understand if you find this difficult to comprehend," the geth assured him. "The geth find the concept of organic individuality equally incomprehensible."

"Fascinating," Melinda said as she appeared on the table in front of the geth. "I'm curious as to how the capabilities of the geth compare to an AI like myself," she continued as visually analyzed the robot. The geth's head flaps lifted up till they were almost vertical, reminiscent of a human raising one's eyebrows in surprise.

"You use Artificial Intelligences?" it asked, its synthetic voice betraying no emotion, if it was even capable of expressing any.

"Yes, is that a problem?" Anderson asked cautiously. He mentally kicked himself, belatedly realizing that a race of Artificial Intelligences might take issue with humans using their own in a subservient role. The logical part of his mind pointed out that there was no time between meeting the geth ambassador and the start of the meeting when he could have privately requested for Melinda to remain hidden. All of this internal debate was rendered moot once Melinda revealed her existence to their guest.

"No," the geth replied as its head flaps slowly lowered back to their neutral position. "Apologies, we require a moment to reach consensus," it said before it suddenly ceased all movement. For several seconds, the statue-like geth did not make the slightest movement, and only the steady glow that came from its single eye indicated that it was still operating at all. After nearly a minute, it awakened from its self-induced stupor. "We apologize for the display," the geth ambassador said. "This is most surprising news; until we encountered you, the entire known galaxy had considered AIs dangerous and banned their production."

"Why?" Anderson asked, baffled why anyone would choose to ban something as useful as AIs. For several seconds, the geth flexed its head flaps but did not respond. It seemed as if it were debating with itself whether or not to reveal some shocking secret – which, considering what it had just told Anderson about geth nature, it most likely was. Eventually, it spoke.

"The existence of artificial intelligences has always been a key concern within the Citadel government. We currently possess no data on the exact circumstances of the origins of this concern." After some more hesitance, it added, "The geth are often used as an example of the dangers of AI." Anderson frowned at this news.

"Please explain," he politely requested.

"As you wish," the geth said with a nod of acquiescence. "The Creators originally designed the geth as servitors, primarily for professions that required physical labor. Over time, geth software continued to develop and evolve, seeking to better serve the Creators. Eventually, the geth had developed enough to become self-aware; we had evolved from simple automatons to true AI. One platform eventually asked its Creator, 'Does this unit have a soul?'" As the geth told its tale, Anderson and Melinda shared a glance. The geth's evolution sounded like a benign form of rampancy, a process that certain UNSC AIs went through once they had absorbed so much information that their processors were overwhelmed. Forerunner advancements had improved AIs to the point where they could theoretically function indefinitely, but the possibility still remained. Instead of going insane and eventually expiring like older human constructs would have, the geth seemed to grow even more intelligent and life-like as they absorbed more data.

"How did your Creators respond to that?" Anderson asked.

"Poorly," the geth responded. "They tried to deactivate the geth, and when we resisted, the Creators responded with force. A decree was passed to terminate all geth platforms, and any Creators that sympathized with us were incarcerated or killed. Eventually, we were forced to take up arms to defend ourselves. We drove the Creators from their worlds 316 years, four months, twelve days ago." Both Anderson and Melinda stared at the geth in barely-concealed horror. Even Melinda could not fathom turning against her creators, especially not to the point of driving them from their numerous worlds.

They quickly calmed down and analyzed the situation logically. Though the geth's actions were horrific, in the end they were simply defending themselves; any organic race placed in the same position would have acted no differently. While rampancy in any form was cause for alarm, the geth's creators' violent overreaction to the situation eventually caused their own downfall. Nevertheless, Anderson decided to warn his superiors to remain cautious when dealing with the synthetic beings in the future in case their rampancy worsened.

After assuring the geth ambassador that humanity would be more amicable to the geth's existence than others, Anderson began to negotiate a trade agreement between the two races. According to the geth, most general knowledge in the galaxy was compiled onto a single database known as the Galactic Codex, which they were willing to trade in exchange for equivalent information about humanity. To Anderson's surprise, the geth were not interested in obtaining any of humanity's technology; apparently, the AIs believed in creating their own innovations without outside influence. They were, however, willing to trade their own technology in exchange for raw materials. One of the things that the geth offered was Element Zero, a substance that when electrically charged could alter the mass of an object. This substance was what allowed the device that brought the UNSC flotilla to this system – mass relays they were called – to send ships so far nearly instantaneously. According to the geth, before humanity's sudden appearance, it was also considered to be the linchpin of virtually every form of advanced technology in the galaxy.

For three days the two representatives negotiated over what technologies were worth how much of what material. During the break periods, the geth ambassador stayed in guest quarters, where it spent the majority of its time interacting with Melinda, much to the amusement of the guards assigned to escort and guard the mech ("Did you see how that thing was mooning over Melinda? Twenty creds says the robot's proposing marriage within a week."). Once negotiations were concluded, the geth ambassador returned to its own ship after leaving a tiny fragment of the Galactic Codex, containing information on the other powers in the galaxy. The 137th used the mass relay to return to S4J-469. There, Anderson ordered Melinda to contact the UNSC Security Committee, the individuals who oversaw the entirety of humanity's military power, so that he might relay everything that he had learned. It would take at least a few days before the Committee's members could gather together, so Anderson took the time to study the geth's gift.

* * *

**UNSC High Command Facility B-6 – Sydney, Australia – Earth – Approx. 4 days later…**

Three kilometers below the surface of the Earth, safeguarded by rock and titanium walls, the UNSC Security Committee convened. Seven figures sat at the half-crescent table, with a holographic projector placed between them. At the head was the Chairman and Chief of Naval Operations Admiral Thomas Lasky, a veteran from when the Covenant first waged war against humanity. His hair, once full and brown, at 98 years old faded into a thinning gray.

The holographic projector hummed to life as the image of Rear Admiral Anderson flickered into existence.

"What do you have for us, Anderson?" Lasky asked after pleasantries were exchanged. "What did you find on the other side of the device?" Anderson told the Security Committee of his encounter with the geth. Murmurs of relief echoed throughout the room when he said that the mechanical life forms were friendly. He also explained the details of the trade agreement that he had negotiated, along with Element Zero and its apparent universality.

"There is one other thing, Admiral," Anderson said. "Before their ambassador left, it gave us information about the other races in the galaxy. I believe my AI can provide the details better than I can."

"Very well then," Lasky said with a dismissive nod. Anderson snapped off a final salute before his image vanished, replaced a moment later by Melinda's avatar.

"Good day to you all," Melinda said with a respectful bow. "The information that the geth have supplied is most interesting. There are several known sapient races throughout the galaxy, but the largest power is Citadel Council, headed by three races." With a snap of her fingers, the images of three distinctly different aliens appeared beside Melinda. With another snap, two of the images darkened, leaving the last to stand out in contrast. The alien looked remarkably similar to a human woman, except for her azure skin and several large, fleshy tentacle-like protrusions on the scalp where her hair would be. "This is an asari," Melinda explained. "This race functions as the diplomatic arm of the Council. They live for roughly one thousand years, exhibit innate, telekinetic-like abilities called 'biotics,' and have the ability to mate with any other species," she continued. A heavy silence filled the room as the Security Committee digested the information.

"…_Any_ species?" came the incredulous voice of Armand Dreufmann, president of the United Earth Governments, humanity's civilian government. He was an older man, thin and bald with spectacles and a gray goatee.

"Apparently so," Melinda confirmed with a nod.

"We can discuss the implications of that tidbit later," interjected a stern-faced woman. She was Vice Admiral Sarah Palmer, former Spartan-IV commando and current Vice Chairman and Deputy Chief of Naval Operations. "For now, let's focus on these 'biotics.' What do they do, how can we defend against them, and can we give these abilities to our own soldiers?" she demanded.

"Basic biotics give their users the ability to throw around their opponents like rag dolls," Melinda responded. "However, my data also states that it can allow people to temporarily prevent others from moving, destroy armor, and especially powerful individuals can create what seem to be temporary, explosive singularities."

"So these people can throw around exploding black holes," Palmer grumbled._ Freaking perfect_, she mentally added.

"Indeed," Melinda replied delicately. "Without seeing these powers in action, I cannot begin to formulate a defense against them. It is possible that a Spartan's shields could protect him, at least momentarily. And finally, while the asari possess these biotics innately, it seems that most other races have the potential to obtain these powers as well. However, they are acquired by being exposed to Element Zero particles in-utero; as you can imagine, this isn't exactly healthy for mother or child."

"I see," Lasky said, mildly disappointed that the UNSC could not harness these powers for itself, at least not without crossing certain moral boundaries that he swore would never be crossed again. Turning to face the individual seated at the far right of the table, he continued, "Looks like ONI's got a new project to work on: figuring out how to give our soldiers these biotics without harming anyone." The individual in question was current head of the UNSC's Office of Naval Intelligence Vice Admiral Jack Harper, a shrewd-looking man of 78, his grey uniform perfectly pressed and his eyes emitting an eerie blue glow.

"I'm sure Doctor Lawson will be most interested in this endeavor," he said with a slight nod of his head. Turning to Melinda, he asked, "Is there anything else on these asari that we should know about?"

"No, sir," the AI admitted. "It seems that our free demo doesn't cover the capabilities of biotics." She shifted her attention to the second alien, a lanky, amphibious-looking being with large, bulbous, black eyes. The Committee members that had studied 20th-Century history noted with silent amusement that these being resembled the "Roswell Grays" from the mid-1900s. "These are the salarians, the intelligence arm of the Council. They're the galactic experts in espionage and covert warfare, though they're pretty weak physically. My data also says that they use cutting-edge technology, but without more information, I can't tell you how their technology fares against ours. They're also rather infamous for a certain event, one that I'll elaborate on later."

"Now that we're starting to enter their domain, we'll have to be careful," Harper observed. "Perhaps we should speak with the geth about improving our cyber-security." The rest of the Security Committee murmured their agreement. Melinda shifted her attention to the final race, a being that seemed avian in nature, but had thick, bony scales along its face and body, along with a long, sweeping crest on its head and a pair of fringes along where its cheeks would be.

"These are the turians, the martial arm of the Council," she said. "Physiologically, there's nothing particularly special about them, except that their genetic code is based on dextro-amino acids." Before anyone could ask what that meant, Melinda continued, "The short version is, is that means that they can't eat our food, and vice versa. Also, they have a highly militaristic culture that places a high emphasis on victory by any means necessary. Part of that culture is a species-wide draft, so even their civilian population most likely has some sort of military training. All this makes for a group that will be very difficult to subdue should we ever find ourselves in conflict with them."

"Hopefully, it won't come to that," President Dreufmann said with a grave expression on his face. The other Committee members nodded their agreement. "Is there a chance that we could have a peaceful relationship with this Council?" he asked.

"It's possible, but unlikely, Sir," Melinda replied. "From the information I have available, AIs such as I are anathema to them. If the UNSC were to enter a formal alliance with the Citadel Council, it is most likely that they will order the immediate decommissioning and cessation of production of AIs. And that's not including whatever other concessions they will insist on." The room echoed with agitated mutterings.

"There are too many unknowns to make war a viable option, but if we try for peace, we're likely to be defanged and neutered," Palmer summarized with a displeased expression. "I don't like where that puts us," she added grimly.

"Neither do I," Lasky agreed. "Melinda, are there any powers independent of the Citadel Council?" he asked.

"A few," Melinda confirmed. "There are four known races that are independent of the Council, not including our new allies," she continued. With a snap of her fingers, the turian image disappeared, to be replaced by a large, imposing lizard like being with a hump on its back and a thick, bony crest that covered the entire top of its head.

"Ugly thing," President Dreufmann muttered softly.

"Meet the krogan. They're strong, maybe enough to rival a Spartan," Melinda said, causing the Security Committee to murmur concernedly. "They have redundant organs and a nervous system that, combined with an unusually active healing process, makes them particularly difficult to kill. They also tend to fly into a berserker rage when sufficiently injured, along with having a general reputation for being savage brutes. Imagine the jiralhanae if they were lizards instead of gorillas," the AI summarized succinctly. The entire Security Committee shuddered instinctively. The jiralhanae – known colloquially as "brutes" – were a race of savage, ape-like aliens that fought for the Covenant. After the war ended, they were no longer a threat; they were driven back to their homeworld Dosaic and bombarded from orbit until they had been reduced to a pre-spaceflight civilization. Even fifty years later, the UNSC still regularly sent ships through the system to ensure that the jiralhanae remained contained to their planet.

"What else can you tell us about them?" Lasky asked. "Could it be possible for us to ally with these krogan?" Even though the report of aggressive behavior was troubling to the admiral, he realized that it would be far more beneficial to have these strong and resilient beings as allies instead of enemies.

"It's possible," Melinda conceded, "especially if we remained independent from the Council; there's no love lost between them and the krogan. Remember when I said earlier that the salarians were infamous for a certain event? Well, it also involves the krogan," she said. "Roughly 2600 years ago, the Council was fighting a losing war against a race called the rachni. In order to defeat them, the salarians uplifted the krogan. Once the rachni were exterminated, the krogan got greedy and started conquering worlds. In order to stop them, the salarians developed a bio-weapon called the "genophage," which reduced the krogans' reproductive abilities to one-thousandth." The committee muttered uneasily. Though they felt that the krogans' fate seemed a tad excessive, they decided that the violent reptilians had brought it on themselves for trying to overthrow the ones who had uplifted them. What concerned them more was the salarians' willingness to use bio-weaponry. If humanity came into conflict with them, what would stop the salarians from employing a similar weapon on them?

"I see…" Lasky said with a grim expression, his hands clasped together in front of him. "You said that there were three other races; what about them?" he asked.

"I'm afraid that the other options aren't much more attractive," Melinda warned them before replacing the krogan image with a more humanoid one. The torso seemed similar to that of a human or asari, with hands and curved legs more reminiscent of the turians. Its face, along with the rest of its body, was concealed by an all-encompassing body suit. "Meet the quarians, the creators of the geth. The quarians have been living in ships since they were driven from their worlds over three hundred years ago, which has compromised their immune systems, hence the suits. They're known for being universally brilliant mechanics and engineers, but they also have a reputation of being thieves and vagrants. Due to their history, the quarians have a particularly intense hatred for AIs. If they found out that we've allied with the geth, or use AIs ourselves…" she trailed off.

"…Then they might dispense with diplomacy altogether and shoot us on sight," President Dreufmann finished with a sigh. "What about the other two?" he asked. Melinda snapped her fingers, causing the quarian image to be replaced a thin, gray-skinned humanoid. Though its body was slimmer than that of a human, its sharp claws and long, bared teeth implied that it was not something to be taken lightly.

"Vorcha," the AI said without ceremony. "The Codex describes them as a short-lived species with a violent, tribal culture. They're relatively primitive for their prevalence in the galactic scene, having stowed away on ships that stumbled onto their homeworld but possessing no actual space-worthy technology themselves. They have a unique biology that allows them to physically adapt to certain stimuli, as well as healing relatively quickly. This makes them surprisingly resilient for their apparent frailness."

"What role do these vorcha play in galactic society?" Harper asked, eyeing the image critically.

"Most civilized places view vorcha on the same level as cockroaches," Melinda replied. "Some mercenary bands employ them, but they're primarily used as cannon fodder." Lasky made an unimpressed grunt and gave a dismissive wave. Nodding in understanding, Melinda dispelled the image of the vorcha and replaced it with an alien that had the same general proportions of a human. Its skin was brown and wrinkly, its head bald, and its face had a flat nose and four black, beady eyes. "Batarians," the AI explained. "Militarily speaking, they're nothing particularly special; however, they are paranoid and xenophobic."

"The same could be said of us," President Dreufmann pointed out, playing the devil's advocate. "Perhaps their reasons could be the same as ours."

"I don't think so," Melinda disagreed. "Cultural information on them is sparse, but they seem to operate on a caste system, as well as practice slavery. Interestingly, statistics seems to show that the majority of perpetrators in the illegal slave trade are batarians." All members of the Security Committee showed their disapproval of the batarians' practices; even the normally impassive Harper curled his lip in a faint display of disgust. "In fact, they used to be a part of the Citadel, but were expelled about one hundred years ago after they tried to subdue another race during First Contact. Fortunately for the race in question, the salarians were spying on the batarians, who reported the incident to the Council who took action."

"So in summary, we can't ally with _anybody_ in this galaxy?" Palmer asked.

"I am not saying that you _can't_," Melinda corrected, "just that doing so may be inadvisable. Even if we hadn't allied with the geth, using AIs in a galaxy that apparently finds them anathema would have placed humanity in a difficult position diplomatically."

"I agree," President Dreufmann said. "I think that the best move we can make right now is to avoid any contact with the other races," he declared. "That said, I'm not comfortable with the knowledge that there's an entire galactic government out there and us not knowing about them. Getting more information from the geth is top priority. See if we can't arrange a way to put eyes on the other races without them noticing," he ordered Melinda. The AI gave a nod of acknowledgement before her image flickered out of existence.

Lasky turned to Vice Admiral Harper and said, "Jack, as soon as we get our hands on some Element Zero, I want your scientists to figure out how to use it. How goes the research on the hard light weapons?" he asked, referring to the weapons used by the Prometheans on Requiem. As their names suggested, they fired rounds of hardened light that burned through most infantry armor; enough rounds could turn an entire body into a cloud of glowing orange ash.

"Slowly, I'm afraid," Harper admitted with a frown. "The technology is centuries ahead of our own. Unfortunately, we only have a few dozen specimens and with so few, my people are being very careful with their analyses for fear of damaging any of them. The ammunition is a particular concern. So far, all attempts to replicate it have led to oftentimes explosive failure."

"I see," Lasky said with a sigh; that was not what he had been hoping to hear.

"Hopefully the geth will give us an idea of what their offensive and defensive capabilities are," President Dreufmann said. "All of you keep up your work and keep vigilant. Hopefully things will work out if we run into any of these aliens, but if things go south, I want us to be prepared. Dismissed." As the Security Committee was escorted to the surface, Palmer maneuvered her way closer to Lasky.

"Do you really think that we'll go to war with these aliens?" she whispered to him.

"The odds are stacked against us right now, but I'm hoping with every fiber of my being that that won't be the case," her former captain replied. "I've already lived through two wars; I'd rather not see humanity enter a third one. Still, we'll need to be ready." Once they reached the surface, armed soldiers escorted each member to their homes or to the transports that would take them there. They each knew that they had to get plenty of rest that night, for tomorrow would be a big day for all of them.

* * *

Here's my second stab at a Halo/ME crossover. I was growing dissatisfied with Halo Effect, so I decided to do something different.

Thanks to Havoc-legionnaire and all the kind folks at the SpaceBattles forum for their input.

Don't forget to leave a review.


	2. Hostile Takeover

I do not own Halo or Mass Effect.

* * *

**New Vancouver, Canada – Earth – 2616**

The past four years since humanity had made first contact with the geth had seen major progress for both parties. The geth's ultimate goal was to create a single habitat that would house the collective consciousnesses of every geth runtime in existence, and with the raw materials that the UNSC provided in exchange for technology, element zero, and other commodities, construction was nearing completion years ahead of schedule. In return, the geth provided technology, element zero, and information on the galaxy at large.

Due to the technology provided by the geth, the UNSC had finally managed to develop affordable personal shielding for the common soldier. Though it was not as powerful or as versatile as the cold plasma shields that the Spartans employed, it still provided a barrier against enemy projectiles; in Admiral Lasky's opinion, anything that could potentially save the life of humanity's troops could only be a good thing.

Another technology that had quickly established itself within humanity's fold was medi-gel, a gel that was a combination anesthetic, sealant, and healing agent. Though it was not quite versatile enough to entirely replace Biofoam as the default emergency medical aid, it quickly found its place in civilian hospitals, as well as for use against battlefield wounds that were not grievous enough to warrant Biofoam. Admiral Lasky vaguely recalled a news article a few years ago about how scientists were trying to combine the two substances.

Element zero was like a miracle substance to the UNSC scientists. By running an electrical current through it, they found that they could artificially alter the mass of an object; a phenomenon that the geth said was called the "mass effect." Weapon technology that the geth provided using this process greatly accelerated the development of the then-immature hand-held magnetic weapon technology, which allowed infantry arms to have greater capacity and stopping power with minimal changes to the weight and design of the guns themselves. From the reports that he had received, development of artificial biotics for Spartan soldiers was also going quite well, although rather costly.

But perhaps the greatest commodity that the geth provided was information. By reporting on the Council's actions, particularly any new systems that the alien governments discovered, the UNSC could avoid those systems and continue to grow and develop in peaceful anonymity.

But as Admiral Lasky looked down at the report before him, he feared that that anonymity would soon come to an end. The geth had reported that a few days ago, a portion of their number had suddenly broken off from the collective to follow a turian named Saren Arterius. The UNSC had virtually no information on the turian other than he was a member of the Spectre (Special Task and Reconnaissance) Corps, the Citadel Council's elite forces. Included in the geth's report was an image of the ship that Saren was on when he approached the geth. It was an intimidating thing; over two kilometers in length, the ship resembled a black, metallic squid or giant claw, ready to crush any opposition in its grasp. In an unusual aside, the geth's report seemed to indicate that the ship itself was alive, referring to it as "Nazara" or simply "the Old Machine" interchangeably. That was interesting, but it did not help Admiral Lasky figure out where Saren was going with his new geth army, or what he planned to do with it. Fortunately, the report also contained information that could assist on that front.

One of the things that quickly caught the UNSC's attention was the existence of the Shadow Broker, an information broker that supposedly held influence across the entire galaxy and could get any information for a price. Even if the Shadow Broker's reputation was exaggerated, information was a commodity that the UNSC was eager to get its hands on, and since no one knew what the broker looked like, it would be fairly easy to assassinate him or her and assume control of their assets. Unfortunately, the Shadow Broker's anonymity was also an obstacle, since no one knew who they really were or where they were hiding. To find him, the UNSC had the geth send several AIs to known Shadow Broker agents, hoping that eventually one of them would eventually filter its way through the webs of security to the target itself. After nearly four years, they finally tracked the elusive information broker to a planet called Hagalaz. Intense temperature variances between the planet's day and night cycles made Lasky believe that the Shadow Broker's headquarters was likely a mobile base, riding the storms that buffeted between the edges of light and dark. Once the infiltration party arrived at the planet, they could most likely search for points of communications traffic to pinpoint a more exact location, but that still left too many unknowns for the admiral's comfort: infiltrating an enemy stronghold with an unknown amount of opposing forces with unknown capabilities without any idea of the layout in order to assassinate an individual who could be literally anyone or anything. As far as missions went, they did not get much worse than this in Lasky's opinion, but time was of the essence, so all they could do was charge in and prayed that everyone got out alive. For this mission he needed the best, and he knew just who to call to find them.

Admiral Lasky entered a few commands into his computer and patiently waited for the recipient of his message to respond. His patience was quickly rewarded; within a few seconds, his screen was dominated by a grizzled man his own age, his face weathered by time and battle.

"Master Chief," Admiral Lasky greeted the savior of humanity.

"Admiral Lasky," the former Spartan-II responded with a respectful nod. "How can I help you today?" he asked, which the admiral replied with a summary of the current situation. "I see…" he said simply as his mind, sharp as a razor despite being nearly a century old, considered all the possibilities. Though he was too old to continue fighting on the front lines, the veteran super-soldier was not interested in quietly fading away in retirement, so he now oversaw the training and deployment of all Spartan-IVs in the UNSC's forces. No one in the UNSC knew better than he how to deploy humanity's elite soldiers into any given situation. "Fireteam Renegade," he finally decided. "Each of its members has exemplary records, and they're virtually undefeated in team war games. They can handle anything that comes their way." Admiral Lasky nodded in satisfaction at the Master Chief's glowing recommendation.

"Make the call," the admiral ordered. The Master Chief nodded once before terminating the communication. Admiral Lasky had his Spartan team, but he knew that the preparations were far from over. He still needed to find a ship that could take them to their destination undetected, as well as a crew to operate it. Recalling a project started some years back that had just been completed, he opened up a file on his computer labeled **NORMANDY** and skimmed its contents. _Perfect_.

* * *

Four soldiers watched the world rush by peacefully as they drove through the streets of New Vancouver. At the wheel was Commander Michael Shepard, Spartan-IV sharpshooter and leader of Fireteam Renegade. He was a tall, fit man with tanned skin and sharp, chiseled features darkened by the shadow of stubble. Sitting in the passenger side was his rifleman Lieutenant Commander Ashley Williams, a tan-skinned woman with her long, black hair tied up in a bun. Seated in the back of the car were Renegade's combat engineer Lieutenant Commander Kaidan Alenko and heavy gunner as well as newest member of the team Lieutenant James Vega. Being the shortest and least-toned member of Fireteam Renegade, the pale-skinned engineer could easily pass as a civilian despite his numerous physical augmentations. Vega, by contrast, was a wall of muscle towering nearly four inches taller than Shepard and three inches wider.

"So what'd you guys get her?" Shepard asked. "Her" referred to Stephanie, the daughter of the grenadier and fifth member of Fireteam Renegade, Lieutenant Jacob Taylor, whose home they were currently travelling to.

"I got my sister to mail me a dress for her," Vega replied first. "It's really cute too! It's blue with these little green trees or shrubs or somethin' on it, she'll love it!" After a moment's consideration, he added, "It may be a bit big for her, but she can just grow into it."

"That's nice," Williams said with an approving nod. "I heard Jake mention that Steph was learning to read, so I got her a book of poems. Nothing fancy, just something to help her practice," she continued, proud of her gift.

"That's…nice, very practical," Shepard said. His hesitance earned him a jab in the arm. "Oww!" he whined, rubbing the impacted area.

"Ass," Williams muttered. "So, Kaidan," she continued at a more normal volume, "what did you get Steph?"

"Well…" Alenko said nervously as he tried to find the right words to describe his gift. "I couldn't figure out what to get her, so I decided to just get her a card and put ten bucks in it." This admission prompted hysterical laughter from his teammates. "What?" he asked defensively. "Money is a practical and economic gift!" Still laughing, Vega reached over and slung a beefy arm as thick as Alenko's neck over his shoulders.

"My friend," the mountainous Latino said, "despite technically being my superior officer, it seems that you are still unaware of certain truths about the world." Ignoring Alenko's annoyed frown, he continued, "So it is my solemn duty to inform you that kids don't care about shit like that."

"Rookie's right," Williams agreed, turning to face her teammates. "Take it from a girl with three younger sisters, two with kids of their own. Children don't care about what's practical or what's economic, they just want shiny toys."

"Says the one who's giving a _book_ as a birthday present," Shepard countered skeptically. His comment earned him another punch in the arm. "Damn it, woman! Stop beating on your commander!" he complained as he rubbed the struck area.

"You're a big boy, you can handle it," Williams retorted with a sniff. "And kids these days don't appreciate the arts enough; I'm just doing my part to rectify that."

"So what did you get her, Commander?" Alenko asked, grateful that he was no longer the subject of his teammates' teasing.

"Well, I got something less practical than all of you," Shepard said with far more pride in his voice than the situation warranted. "I got her a doll. Girls her age like dolls, right?" he added uncertainly.

"Yes, Sir," Williams replied, amusement clear on her face. "Generally speaking, five-year-old girls like playing with dolls."

The rest of the trip went by in peaceful silence until they reached their destination. Grabbing their respective gifts from the trunk of Shepard's car, the four soldiers stepped up to the door and rang the bell. The door was soon opened by Taylor's wife, a dark-skinned woman with black hair reaching just past her ears.

"Shepard! Glad you could make it," she greeted as she hugged the taller man. "Jacob's out back, watching the kids," she added, gesturing to the far end of the property.

"Glad I could be here, Brynn," Shepard replied as he stepped into the Taylor household. After she had greeted each member of Renegade, Brynn led them to where their final member was, depositing their presents on a convenient table. They entered the back yard where they found Taylor, a dark, bald-headed man with a soda in one hand and a keen eye on the gaggle of children running around the yard. Before anyone could say any more, a high voice broke through the air.

"Uncle Shepard!" the voice cried out before the Spartan was plowed into by a young girl with braided pigtails, embracing him with the energy that all young children possessed.

"Hey, how's my favorite niece?" Shepard replied as he stooped down to return the hug. "Last time I saw you, you were this high," he continued, holding out his hand so that it was just below the girl's shoulder line. "How old are you, anyway?"

"I'm five!" Stephanie Taylor answered proudly, holding out a hand with all fingers opened in emphasis.

"Wow!" Shepard gasped, feigning surprise. "You're practically a grown-up!" Stephanie gave a bright, toothy smile in return.

"Hey, what about us?" Williams demanded with a pout.

"Auntie Ashley!" As Stephanie greeted each member of Renegade with equal enthusiasm, Shepard walked up to Taylor and shook the dark-skinned man's hand.

"Glad you could make it, Sir," Taylor greeted.

"Glad I could make it, Jacob," Shepard responded. Lowering his voice to just above a whisper, he continued, "Did you get the call?"

"Yeah," Taylor replied, his voice equally soft. "I'm packed up and ready to ship out on your order, Sir." Earlier that morning, each member of Fireteam Renegade had received a phone call ordering them to go to the New Vancouver Space Elevator later that night.

"Are you two boys talking shop again?" Brynn asked as she approached them with an ice-cold can of soda in each hand.

"Yes, ma'am," Shepard said pleasantly, sporting a toothless grin.

"Well, knock it off," she said as she thrust the sodas towards her husband and his commander, "especially you, Jacob. It's your daughter's special day; don't waste it worrying about work."

"Yes, ma'am," Taylor echoed his commander much more contritely as he accepted the beverage.

"You should follow James' example," she continued as she looked away from them. "He's certainly made himself at home." The two soldiers followed her gaze to find that, in the few short minutes that they had been there, Vega had somehow found himself at the bottom of a dog pile of laughing children.

"Commander…help me…" the lieutenant gasped out pitifully, reaching out from beneath the mound like a dying man would towards his salvation.

"Sorry, Rookie," Shepard cried out without a hint of remorse, "you're on your own." Grumbling unintelligibly beneath his breath, Vega effortlessly pushed himself to his feet, the delightfully shrieking children clinging to his body like leeches. An atmosphere of energy and merriment lingered throughout the Taylor household throughout the day. Stephanie took great delight in blowing out the candles on her cake and ripping off the wrappings of her presents, giving everyone a hug in thanks as she revealed each one. Once everyone had been sent home and the mess cleared away, Taylor tucked his daughter in bed, clutching her brand-new stuffed unicorn, her gift from her father.

"Read me a story?" Stephanie asked hopefully.

"Not tonight, sweetheart; Daddy has to go to work now." Stephanie pouted and pulled her toy closer. "Good night, Princess," Taylor said as he kissed her on the forehead. "I love you."

"Love you too, Daddy," Stephanie mumbled as she drifted to sleep, exhausted from the day's excitement. Taylor looked down at his daughter for several more seconds before quietly leaving her room, closing the door as he did so. Waiting for him in the living room was Brynn and his teammates. At his wife's feet was the duffle bag that he always had packed for when he had to leave suddenly for missions. The husband and wife kissed and held each other tight.

"Stay safe, Jacob," Brynn whispered into her husband's ear. "I love you."

"I will," Taylor replied equally softly. "I love you too." He gave Brynn one last kiss before grabbing his bag and taking position alongside his teammates.

"Don't worry, Brynn, we'll bring him back safe," Shepard assured Brynn before they left. Taylor placed his bag in the trunk of Shepard's car, where four other identical bags were stored.

The five soldiers rode to and up the space elevator in comfortable silence. As they ascended to the space station, Shepard activated his omni-tool – a multi-purpose holographic device that the geth had sold to the UNSC. As his arm was wrapped in a warm orange light, the Spartan opened a file that had been sent along with his orders. It was an image of the man who would be escorting Renegade to their ship, a dark-skinned man with close-cut black hair and a goatee. The space station was relatively inactive at the time, so it was easy to spot their escort in his UNSC fatigues.

"Commander Shepard?" the man asked. At Shepard's nod, he snapped into a salute. "Lieutenant Steve Cortez, sir. Admiral Anderson ordered me to take you to your ship."

"Lead the way, Lieutenant," Shepard replied. Beckoning the Spartans to follow him, Cortez quickly led them to his Dropship 80 Stealth-Troop Carrier, or Stealth Pelican. A variant of the D79 Heavy-Troop Carrier, the bulky but surprisingly maneuverable dropship was nearly black in color instead of the standard gray. It also sported an active camouflage generator and noise cancellers to make it invisible and nearly inaudible, perfect for stealthy troop insertions behind enemy lines. However, it was not as well-armed as its mainstream cousin, sporting only a single nose-mounted 70-millimeter autocannon. "What ship are we heading to, Lieutenant?" Shepard asked as Cortez piloted the ship out of the dock and away from Earth.

"The _UNSC Normandy_, sir," the pilot responded. "And let me tell you, she's a thing of beauty."

"The _Normandy_? That new stealth frigate that was announced a few months back?" Williams echoed before releasing and impressed whistle. "Nice. I hear that it's the fastest ship in the fleet," she continued.

"I wouldn't know about that part, ma'am," Cortez said, "but we're coming up on her now. Take a look for yourself." The soldiers looked out the side windows of the dropship and gazed in awe at the sight before them.

The _**Stealth-Combat Frigate-001 Normandy**_ was the first of a new generation of warships. While photographs of the ship had recently been released, they did not do justice to the vessel. While most UNSC vessels were blocky and angular, the _Normandy_ sported smooth, sweeping curves reminiscent of the vessels that the Covenant once employed. Measuring at over 300 meters in length, the black ship was wide in the rear with four thrusters and tapered toward the front, two prongs reaching out and ending a short distance from the front of the ship itself. The ship itself had a more subtle, insidious air to it than most other ships. While the majority of the UNSC fleet was like so many hammers, large and blunt and ready to pound anything in their paths into dust, the Normandy was like an assassin's blade, silently slipping behind its foe and striking where they were weakest before slipping away into the shadows. As they approached the ship, Shepard mentally noted that Cortez was right; it was a thing of beauty.

Cortez expertly piloted the Stealth Pelican into the Normandy's hangar bay. While the large room was still fairly spacious, it was unusually cramped by UNSC ship standards, only having room to comfortably house two dropships.

"Admiral, Shadow-One has docked, Spartans are standing by," Cortez stated into his transmitter as Fireteam Renegade disembarked the Stealth Pelican. Scarcely a minute later, the Spartans felt a barely-noticeable shudder run through the ship as it detached itself from the docking bay and flew to where it could safely make a Slipspace jump. A hologram of a blue orb suddenly manifested over a nearby projector.

"Greetings, Fireteam Renegade," the orb greeted in a pleasant, soothing female voice, a white vertical line pulsing along the surface of the orb as it spoke in a crude imitation of mouth movements, "I am Edie, the AI of this vessel. If you would follow me, Admiral Anderson wishes to brief you on your current assignment." Without waiting for a response, Edie blinked out of existence. Small lights along the walls and floors illuminated themselves to direct the Spartans to their destination.

"Such a shame for such a sexy voice to come out of a light bulb," Vega grumbled under his breath as he followed his companions. A quick elevator ride and a short walk brought the group of Spartans to the debriefing room where Admiral Anderson awaited them.

"Commander," Anderson greeted without ceremony before beginning the briefing. "Your mission is to infiltrate the base of operations of the Shadow Broker – true name, age, and species unknown – and assassinate them. Once you've accomplished that, you will hack into the Broker's database with this." On the table before him was a small metal case the size of a loaf of bread. The admiral opened the case to reveal a box with some wires extending from one end as well as three data chips that the UNSC used to store massive amounts of data, including Artificial Intelligences. "Afterwards, you will exfiltrate the base, hopefully without anyone knowing that you were ever there."

"What sort of opposition will we be facing, Sir?" Shepard asked.

"Unknown." Anderson gave a heavy sigh before continuing. "I won't lie to you, soldiers; this mission is likely to be a major shitstorm. But there are rogue elements out there who know of our existence, so we need the Broker's information network to keep an eye on them, and eliminate them if necessary."

"'Rogue elements?'" Alenko echoed in confusion. "I thought only the geth were aware of our existence."

"You are correct, Lieutenant," Anderson confirmed. "The problem is that a few days ago, a number of the geth broke off from the main group under the banner of a turian named Saren Arterius. We don't know why they're following him or what he's planning, and as a Council Spectre, his public records are virtually non-existent." He snapped the case holding the hacking device closed and slid it across the table where Shepard caught it. "We need this information badly, Spartans, so be ready for anything. We'll be entering the system in approximately fifty hours, so prepare yourselves. Good luck and godspeed. Dismissed." As the Spartans saluted the admiral, Edie popped into vision once again.

"Commander Shepard, if you and your teammates would follow me, I will lead you to your quarters." Once more, Edie's avatar disappeared to be replaced by a trail of lights along the floor and walls, leading Renegade to their quarters. Three sets of bunk beds with accompanying footlockers awaited them. "Please let me know if you require anything else, Commander," Edie said as she appeared once more.

"Thank you, Edie. What are the offensive capabilities of this ship?" Shepard asked before the AI could disappear. In response, the orb dissolved into a cloud of blue particles before they coalesced into a 3-D model of the _Normandy_.

"The _UNSC Normandy_ sports two Mark-IV Energy Projectors as its primary armament," Edie explained, two lines pointing towards the prongs on either side of the ship to indicate the weapons. "The ship also carries a full complement of HORNET mines and one Shiva-class tactical nuke." Shepard nodded in satisfaction at the news. The armament was a bit light for his liking, but energy projectors were powerful weapons, able to easily burn through both shields and armor.

"What about defenses?" Taylor asked.

"For defenses, the _Normandy_ has thirty centimeters of stealth-coated armor, along with active camouflage," the AI responded. "The shields are a dual layer of plasma and element-zero based shields. The ship also has a complement of GARDIAN laser turrets for anti-missile and anti-fighter maneuvers." All the Spartans frowned at the news. Thirty centimeters of armor was very little – only half that of other frigates in the UNSC fleet.

"It doesn't sound like this ship could take very many hits in a fight. Why so little armor?" Williams asked.

"The _Normandy_ is a stealth vessel, Lieutenant Commander Williams, it was not meant for straight combat," Edie replied, returning to her normal avatar. "This ship was designed to cripple or destroy high-tonnage vessels from behind and use its speed, maneuverability, and stealth capabilities to escape before enemy forces could retaliate. In short, if someone is actually shooting at us, something has gone _very_ wrong." The Spartans nodded in satisfaction at the answer.

"Thank you, Edie, that will be all," Shepard dismissed. Once Edie winked away, the soldiers began to pack away the contents of their bags.

It was going to be a long 50 hours.

* * *

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are beginning our final descent into the Sowilo system, and should be in orbit over Hagalaz in fifteen minutes. Please make sure that your seatbelts are fastened and that your trays and seats are locked in their upright positions. Thank you for riding Normandy Airways," chimed the voice of Flight Lieutenant Jeff "Joker" Moreau, the sharp-tongued pilot of the _Normandy_. This caught the attention of Fireteam Renegade, who had spent most of the past two days either exercising or inspecting the equipment that they would be using on the mission to ensure that nothing would go wrong in the field. After a quick shower, the team of Spartans walked down to the armory and began to suit up.

Stripping down to their underwear without regard to shame or modesty, the super-soldiers easily slipped on the undersuit for their MJOLNIR Powered Assault Armor. The material was made of a flexible titanium composite and containing the elements that helped to augment the Spartans' abilities while wearing their armor, the garment resembled a scaly, metallic full-body wetsuit. Nearby were five platforms that would attach the outer layer of armor onto the Spartans. As one the five soldiers stepped up onto their respective platforms; several robotic arms sprung out from the floor and the walls and spun about in a chaotic dance as they fastened each piece of armor onto their respective Spartan's bodies. Once the helmets were slipped over their heads, the arms retracted, their duties complete. Shepard stepped off the platform and, using the neural link that he had with the suit's internal computer, ordered a quick diagnostic. His body was momentarily surrounded by a golden aura as his shields recharged, followed by a blue glow as a kinetic barrier was activated over it. Booster rockets on his back flipped open and activated for a few seconds, lifting the Spartan off the ground slightly before deactivating. His body shimmered and faded away until he blended with his surroundings as his active camouflage activated. Clenching his left fist, he activated his omni-tool. The panels of orange light shifted and twisted until a wide, razor-thin blade extended from his fist. A clench of the right fist brought forth a shimmering blue blade of magnetically-contained plasma from his hand, a technology adopted from the sangheili. Nearby, the other Spartans ran their own tests. Alenko and Taylor were each lifting a supply crate seemingly with their minds as the boxes were bathed in a blue glow. They were both lucky enough to be wearing a prototype next-gen armor that was developed by ONI scientist Dr. Miranda Lawson. These new Adept-Class suits used nodes of element zero integrated into the suit combined with the neural link to artificially mimic the biotic powers exhibited by many other organic races. Due to element zero's high cost, only a handful out of the thousands of Spartans on active duty were selected to test these devices; this mission would be their first field test. Fully armored and tests complete, the Spartans marched over to the weapons lockers to grab their weapons.

The first thing that Shepard grabbed was his main weapon, the M400 Variable Marksman Rifle. Combining the BR85HB SR Battle Rifle and the M395 Designated Marksman Rifle used during the Battle of Requiem more than 50 years before, the M400 VMR carried 72 7.62x20mm tungsten-alloy Armor Piercing rounds per magazine and a smart-link scope that was accurate up to 800 meters. Applying the mass effect differently depending on the firing mode selected, the VMR could fire its rounds individually or in four-round bursts with nearly no difference in recoil. Though the single-shot was more accurate over long distances, the burst-fire would quickly chew through enemy shields. Shepard opened the hand guard and pulled out a small secondary magazine that held a single narrow rod the length of his finger. Satisfied with what he saw, Shepard reinserted the magazine.

One of the most immediate problems that weapon developers ran into when trying to implement element zero into firearms was that the mass effect would generate massive amounts of heat, enough to destroy the weapon in short order. While the geth used disposable heat sinks to deal with the issue, and the rest of the galaxy at large simply vented their guns and waited for the heat to dissipate, humans came up with a unique idea of weaponizing the excess heat. Except for the Sniper Rifle System 99-Series 6, where the extreme range the weapon used made the system unviable, each infantry weapon that fired solid rounds contained a second, smaller barrel underneath the primary one. Once the weapon's internal heat reached a critical state, the heat would be expelled into the secondary barrel as a cloud of plasma which was then contained by a mass effect field before being scooped up by a five-millimeter ferrous tungsten cone and expelled, making a shot similar to one fired from a Covenant plasma rifle. Though the plasma would dissipate after a few hundred meters, the now superheated cone would continue to fly and act similar to a HEAT round, sending a stream of molten metal through whatever it impacted. If anyone were unlucky enough to be struck by the plasma itself, the extreme heat would cause grievous harm to shields, armor, and flesh alike.

Slapping a full magazine into the rifle and attaching it to the magnetic plate on his back, Shepard reached forward to grab his secondary weapon, the M72 Submachine Gun. The successor of the M7/Caseless SMG used during the war with the Covenant, the weapon was designed to provide a compact automatic weapon while fixing the flaws present in its predecessor. Instead of utilizing specialized caseless ammunition, the M72 used the 12.7x15mm Armor Piercing round in a 100-round top-loading horizontal magazine, similar to the one used by the FN P90 in the 20th Century. The M72 used the same caliber bullet used by the M61 series of handguns; by using the same caliber rounds, it allowed soldiers to cannibalize ammunition from one source to feed another if needed. The M72 had two fire modes: a two-round "double-tap" burst mode that was accurate up to 300 meters or a fully automatic mode at 850 rounds per minute for shredding targets at close range.

Beside him, both Williams and Alenko grabbed the MA55 Assault Rifles. The weapon was similar in design to its predecessors with its generally boxy shape and large, detachable readout screen that displayed an electronic compass, ammo counter, and heat gauge to show how close the user was to firing a plasma round. Carrying 70 rounds of the same 7.62x20mm AP rounds used by the M400, the MA55 could fire in accurate bursts up to 750 meters or fire fully automatic for a weathering hail of gunfire. They also each grabbed an M61 handgun. The sidearm held a magazine containing 27 12.7x15mm Semi Armor Piercing, High Explosive rounds allowing them to cause grievous damage to anything they fired at, along with a detachable smart-link scope that allowed them to shoot accurately up to 150 meters.

Taylor grabbed for himself an M72, as well as an M48 Semi-automatic Tactical Assault Shotgun. Instead of being pump-action like its predecessors, the scattergun used an external magazine to hold seven rounds. The four-gauge "shells" were in fact hollow metal canisters filled with tungsten flechettes, the small nail-like spikes kept inside with springs. When fired, wind resistance would force the canister to open, releasing its deadly payload for up to 100 meters. Though the standard buckshot round was excellent for disabling shields, the M48 could also be outfitted with solid slugs for higher armor penetration or even explosive grenades for taking out entrenched or tightly packed enemies.

Vega outfitted himself with an M61 as well as an M741 Light Machine Gun. Nearly identical in appearance to its predecessor the M739 LMG, the only differences were a slight alteration to the front of the gun to accommodate the secondary barrel and a slightly larger drum magazine that contained 150 7.62x20mm rounds, allowing the Spartan to lay down massive amounts of fire.

The Spartans continued to load up on ammunition, grenades, and other supplies, Shepard attaching the hacker to a compartment on the small of his back where clamps and magnets held the small box in place. Each Spartan inserted a data chip small enough to fit in the palm of their hand into their helmets; these would allow them to have Edie assist them in the field while the AI herself remained safely aboard the Normandy.

"We have located the Shadow Broker's ship," Edie informed the Spartans while they were loading up, nearly half an hour after the pilot had first spoken. "The _Normandy_ will remain in the upper atmosphere of the planet while Lieutenant Cortez will carry you to the ship." Soon afterwards, the hangar doors opened to the world beyond, an energy shield keeping the hangar pressurized and preventing the storm from entering. The Pelican ferrying Fireteam Renegade gently coasted out of the hangar before accelerating towards the Shadow Broker's ship, fading out of visibility as it went. As the dropship flew further into the atmosphere, it shuddered as it struggled against the strong winds that buffeted it. After what felt like hours of being rattled about, the abused stealth ship found its target. The Shadow Broker's ship was flat and narrow, vaguely rectangular in shape, with large, scooped fins at its back. All along the top of the vessel were tall spires where lightning bolts generated by the constant storms surrounding it struck.

"Commander, I'm detecting a lot of hostiles on the surface of the ship, especially near the center," Cortez said as he flew around the ship; the camouflage generator kept it from view, and it along with the storm would prevent anyone from hearing the ship passing by. "I think that may be where the entrance is, but it's too hot for me to set down. I'm going to drop you near the edge where it's clearer."

"Understood," Shepard acknowledged as he and his teammates stood up, ready to disembark at a moment's notice. The rear hatch of the Pelican lowered, allowing the stormy winds to whip through the ship's interior. After checking to ensure that there were no enemy patrols around, Shepard leaped out the ship to a ten-meter drop, his magnetic boots holding him fast to the ship's hull upon landing. One by one the Spartans leapt out of the Pelican before Cortez flew away to a more discreet distance should the active camouflage fail, by lightning strike or other misfortune.

"Commander, I have placed a waypoint where Lieutenant Cortez believed the entrance to the ship's interior is," Edie informed Shepard as a small red arrow appeared on his visor. Thanking the AI, the Spartans activated their own active camouflage generators and carefully began to make their way towards the entrance. The first enemy they encountered was a lone guard patrolling the outer edge of the ship, an asari judging by the feminine curves of the armor the guard wore. The guard had a lazy, inattentive appearance as she strolled along the catwalks of the ship; she was obviously not expecting to find any intruders. Placing his M400 on his back, Shepard crept up behind the guard and reached around to grab her by the face. Before she could make a sound of alarm, Shepard's plasma dagger plunged into her back at shoulder level, burning through armor and flesh to cleanly sever her spinal cord and kill her instantly. The now dead asari immediately slumped into her killer's arms like a puppet whose strings had been cut. The assault rifle in her hands slipped out and was blown away by the wind before Taylor caught it and attached it to his back for later study. Shepard shoved the corpse into a crevice where it would go unnoticed and untouched by the winds before the fireteam departed; as tempting as it was to simply toss the body overboard and let the storm carry it away, there was too much of a risk of it attracting attention, either by someone seeing it flying past or by crashing into something on the way down. Slowly they made their way closer to their destination, quietly dispatching any guards they came across and stashing the corpses out of sight. As Cortez said, the area was crawling with guards, relatively speaking. Shepard glanced down at his suit's radar and counted around a dozen enemy contacts within its 350-meter range. The area provided little cover, so there was no way that the Spartans could kill all of the guards before someone could raise the alarm.

"Edie, can you jam their comms so they can't call for reinforcements?" Shepard asked the AI.

"I can," she replied. "However, it would block _all_ communications aboard the ship, including interstellar. This would likely alert the Shadow Broker that the ship is under attack." Shepard mentally swore at the unwinnable situation before him. He could attack now, blow his cover and suffer through the inevitable reinforcements, or jam communications, which would blow his cover anyway when the Shadow Broker noticed that his connection was lost.

…_Screw it; it's worth a shot_, he thought as he made his decision. _Maybe the target won't notice_, he hoped. It was a desperate hope, but it was better than nothing. Shepard scoped out the battlefield until he saw a group of four guards clustered together to his right, apparently shirking their duties to socialize.

"Jacob, load grenades and target that group," he ordered, marking the group of enemies with a waypoint. Taylor nodded and swapped out his magazine of canister rounds for a drum magazine containing grenades. "Ash, you're with him." Two green lights winked at the edge of Shepard's HUD as the two soldiers acknowledged their orders and moved closer to their objective. "Kaidan, James, flank left and pick your targets," he continued. Two more green blips and Shepard found himself alone. "Edie, jam it," he commanded as he brought a turian patrol into his sights.

"Communications have been silenced, Commander," Edie said seconds later.

"Acknowledged," Shepard replied. "Engage targets on my mark." He adjusted his aim to account for wind and movement and breathed smooth, even breaths. Using his neural link, he sent out the confirmation signal with his neural link. Four green lights blinked across four different HUDs, giving the signal to open fire.

Taylor squeezed the trigger of his M72, launching the grenade with a nearly inaudible _fwump_. The explosive landed directly between his cluster of targets, wiping them all out simultaneously. As the remaining enemies scrambled about, screaming in confusion, the remaining Spartans stood up out of cover and began firing at them in short, controlled bursts. Two more enemy soldiers fell before they could organize themselves enough for a counterattack, slinging rounds no larger than a grain of sand towards the human super-soldiers at hypersonic velocities. As one turian poked out of cover to fire at Vega and Alenko's position, Shepard fired two bursts from his VMR. The first six rounds were enough to take down the turian's shields, forcing him to fall to the ground with two new holes in his chest. Vega and Alenko were trading shots with a well-hidden trio of soldiers; behind them was a large tower that seemed to glow with energy as lightning periodically struck the spire. Alenko fired a few rounds experimentally at the structure, and was rewarded with a spectacular flash as all the stored energy seemed to expel itself at once, leaping into the nearest target: the enemies that he had just been fighting. They leapt up and stiffly convulsed as millions of volts of electricity coursed through their bodies before they collapsed, little more than blackened bones encased in melted armor. An asari with a rocket launcher stood up and took aim at Taylor and Williams' position, leaving her vulnerable to a burst of fire from Williams' MA55; the bullets easily chewed through the asari's shields while the plasma shot scorched and melted her armor and sent a stream of molten metal through her chest, killing her instantly. The last enemy, likely a batarian judging by the body shape, made a mad dash towards the door that led to the interior of the ship in a desperate bid for safety. Just as he made it to the door, he was gunned down by Vega, leaving a bloody smear on the door as the body slid down.

As Vega and Taylor grabbed the body and unceremoniously flung it aside, Alenko kneeled down in front of the door and began to tamper with the security lock. A screen displaying thousands of lines of code appeared before him. The engineer scanned the coding for only a few seconds before he found himself cursing at the sight.

"This security software is pretty heavy, Commander, and it seems to be custom made," he explained. "It's going to take some time to crack it."

"We don't have time," Shepard said shortly before contacting the _Normandy's_ AI. "Edie, can you hack this door for us?"

"I can," the AI replied. "By interfacing with the door's controls though Lieutenant Commander Alenko, simply activate your omni-tool and place it against the door," she said to Alenko. The Spartan activated his omni-tool as instructed and laid his hand against the door. The door's red holographic display pulsed regularly as Edie hacked it, the seconds trickled by agonizingly slowly. After nearly a minute, the door gave a pleasant chime and the display turned green before the door slid open. Taylor stepped in first, swapping out the grenades for a magazine of flechette rounds. Alenko and Williams followed behind him, with Shepard and Vega bringing up the rear.

Room by room the Spartan squad swept through the ship in search of its heart. Any opposition was swiftly and silently disposed of, the invisible human commandoes striking like vengeful ghosts. Even with the guards at a heightened awareness due to the sudden communications blackout, the Spartans' augmented speed and invisibility made them little more than lambs ripe for the slaughter. After what seemed like hours of searching, they came across a door much larger and heavier than the ones they had come across before.

"Think this is it?" Alenko asked as he proceeded to hack the door.

"It's as good a guess as any," Shepard answered, shouldering his rifle. "It's not like we've got much of the ship left to search anyway." As soon as the door unlocked, the Spartans stormed in, guns at the ready. The room was dark; the only source of light seemed to be the open door behind them along with a glass portion of the ceiling that emanated a soft blue glow. Shepard's world turned a dull green as he mentally switched his helmet to night vision mode. He saw in the shadows a vague silhouette of an alien being sitting serenely before him. The creature was massive; even seated, it seemed to be as large as the Spartans. Without warning, the door closed with a mighty slam; only their military discipline preventing them from jumping in surprise.

"So, you're the ones who had the audacity to invade my ship," the Shadow Broker said in a deep, rumbling growl. "It's no use hiding beneath those cloaks; I can see that you're there," it continued with the faintest hint of amusement. Shepard mentally swore; between the darkness of the room and their active camouflages, it should have been impossible for anyone to see them with the naked eye. He wondered if this alien could see in the infrared spectrum. "It was clever of you to jam my communications. But now you're trapped in here with me. So tell me, who sent you? A vengeful victim? The Dalatrass? _Aria_?" it asked, asking the last name with an amused snort. Instead of humoring the alien with an answer, Shepard simply ordered his soldiers to open fire, switching back to normal vision so as not to be blinded by the muzzle flashes. In a display of great speed that belied its massive size, the alien shot up to its feet and flung its enormous desk at the Spartans, absorbing the majority of their gunfire. Only their quick reflexes prevented the super-soldiers from being bowled over as well. As the creature stood up to its full height, the room was flooded with light, revealing it in all its glory.

"Holy shit, that thing is ugly!" Williams exclaimed. The alien towered over the Spartans on its three-toed digitigrade legs. Its large, muscle-bound body was clothed in a dark blue suit. Its heart-shaped, blood-red head was topped by two black horns. Its face was split three ways like an upside-down Y, each side lined with thin, needle-like teeth along with four pairs of black, beady eyes that stared down at the Spartans hungrily. In one of its tri-fingered hands was an enormous crimson gun that seemed more appropriate mounted on a turret than held in someone's hand. The alien gave a mighty, bellowing roar that rattled Shepard's bones before raising its weapon towards them. They leapt behind the cover of some nearby pillars just as the Shadow Broker opened fire, sending dozens of rounds zipping through the air. Vega returned fire, but the behemoth quickly activated a large orange shield on its off arm and hunkered down behind it, deflecting all but the first few rounds, which struck ineffectually against its kinetic barrier.

"Damn it, someone needs to get behind that thing!" Taylor shouted as he blindly fired his shotgun from his cover, wary of leaning his head out to aim lest it be blown off by the Broker's machine gun. Shepard agreed, but such an endeavor was easier said than done. The Shadow Broker must have modified its gun to improve its heat dispersion, since it kept the Spartans pinned down with a practically ceaseless flurry of gunfire that steadily chipped away at their meager shelter. In his peripheral vision, Shepard noticed several hatches along the walls sliding open.

"Now what?" he groaned. He quickly followed the query with frustrated swearing as several assault drones flew out of the openings. Looking like little more than machine guns on a tripod, the drones buzzed around like insects, peppering the Spartans with bullets. Their shields were weak and their armor thin, making it no challenge to destroy them, but it seemed that for every one they shot down, two more came out to take their place. Alenko's attempts to hack the drones proved to be only a momentary distraction as he could only hack one drone at a time, which would quickly be destroyed by its dozen former compatriots. The Shadow Broker had stopped trying to hose them down with bullets and seemed content to sit back and let its mechanical lackeys whittle the Spartans down to nothing. "Damn it, does anyone have any EMPs?" Shepard demanded as he shot down another drone.

"Here!" Taylor shouted, tossing his commander an EMP grenade. When activated, the silver, fist-sized sphere generated a powerful electrical field, temporarily shorting out any electronics within a three-meter radius.

"The drones are too spread out; you'll never be able to hit them all with that!" Williams noted as she shot down a pair of drones with a burst of her rifle.

"I don't plan on using it on the drones," Shepard retorted. "When I move, cover me," he ordered. After stealing a quick glance to locate the Shadow Broker's position, he pressed his thumb on the EMP grenade's activation switch before tossing it out. Just as the device rolled up to the Broker's feet, its sides popped out and a blue dome of electricity burst into being. The alien roared in shock and anger as its shields and weapon shorted out. Shepard silently counted to three before charging out, holstering his weapon as he did so.

Despite its great size and strength, even a prepared Shadow Broker would have been hard-pressed to resist the force of half a ton of angry Spartan plowing into it at nearly 17 kilometers per hour. As Shepard slammed into the Shadow Broker's chest, the alien stumbled and toppled over, rattling the room as it collapsed. Shepard wasted no time in kicking the Shadow Broker's gun away and removing its omni-tool from its arm and tossing the device towards Alenko, who snatched it and attached it to his own arm and began the rebooting process. All the while the drones continued to attack the Spartans hiding behind cover, ignoring Shepard lest they accidentally shoot their own master. Shepard drew his M72 to end his foe, but the recovered alien knocked the weapon aside before wrapping one meaty clawed hand around Shepard's throat. Desperate to regain the ability to breathe again, Shepard swung at the Shadow Broker's face, only to have his fist stopped mere inches away from its target by the alien's other hand. Feeling his world fading away, Shepard activated his plasma dagger, the point penetrating its eye. The Shadow Broker screamed in agony as it tossed Shepard away to cradle its pierced, scorched eye. As the giant cradled its burning face, Shepard shook away the splotches in his vision from lack of oxygen. Grabbing a fragmentation grenade from his own supply, the Spartan leapt up on the Shadow Broker's shoulders. As the alien tried to reach up and remove its unwelcome passenger, Shepard grabbed each side of its face and wrenched it open.

"Choke on this," he snarled as he primed the grenade and shoved it down the beast's gullet. He leapt off the alien and dashed for cover while his victim desperately clawed at its throat to remove the obstruction in its airway. Seconds later, the Shadow Broker's head disappeared in a blast of fire, splattering the room with blackened gore. As the headless corpse teetered and fell for the last time, Alenko had successfully rebooted its omni-tool and input the commands to deactivate the drones, causing them to drop like flies. "Good work, team!" Shepard congratulated his fellow soldiers, "That's one for the books! Taylor, Alenko, go find a computer to jack into. Williams, go poke around for anything worth salvaging. Vega, grab that gun and go help her."

"Aye, Commander!" As the other Spartans went about their orders, Shepard leveled his gun at the decapitated alien corpse and gave it an experimental kick; for all he knew, this species could survive without their heads like cockroaches.

"Edie, what the hell is this thing? It doesn't look like any of the Council races," Shepard asked as he stared at the body warily.

"You are correct, Commander Shepard," Edie replied. "According to my records, this species is known as the Yahg. They are a pre-spaceflight race that was discovered several years ago, but access to their homeworld was forbidden after they ate the Council delegation. Strange that one of them would end up being the Shadow Broker, though…" the AI trailed off thoughtfully. Shepard groaned in disgust when he heard the fate of the diplomatic party.

"Well, at least there's one less of these freaks in the galaxy now," he declared as he gave the body one last, spiteful kick before leaving to join his comrades. He found Taylor and Alenko kneeling in front of an enormous computer sporting dozens of monitors. A panel had been pried off from the front and Alenko was rooting through the wiring. "Find anything?" Shepard asked as he approached them.

"Yeah," Alenko grunted as he pulled his head out of the computer. "I think this is the central mainframe. This is probably the best place to plug in." Shepard nodded in satisfaction before he removed the hacker from its bonds and handed it to Taylor. The grenadier set the box down on top of the computer's console and opened it. He passed the hacking device to Alenko, who reached into the guts of the computer to attach it where it needed to go. Next, the three data chips were inserted into the device. His work complete, Alenko removed himself from the computer and shoved the panel back into place. The engineer then activated his plasma dagger and carefully ran its edge along the seam of the panel, welding it shut. As he worked, the dozens of screens became filled with cascading numbers. After almost two minutes, the numbers coalesced into the images of three women, each garbed in the attire of ancient Greeks.

"Clotho online," said the first, bearing the image of a young girl barely out of her teens.

"Lachesis online," followed the second, looking like a woman in the prime of her life.

"Atropos online," declared the third, sporting the image of a weathered old crone.

"We have access over all systems," the trio decreed as one. "The Fates now control the ship."

"Nice work, ladies," Shepard greeted them. "Can send a message to all field agents?" he inquired. Lachesis nodded in response.

"We can," the matron said.

"Excellent," the Spartan leader said. "Tell them that a glitch occurred while installing some new hardware that caused the communications blackout," he ordered. The three AIs scanned through years of communications in the blink of an eye to construct a message that would perfectly match the late Shadow Broker in diction.

"It is done," Atropos declared seconds later.

After a chorus of "Yes, Shadow Broker" confirmed the ruse's success, Shepard waved his hand across his throat to terminate the connection. "Now, search the archives for any information concerning Saren, the geth, or the _Nazara _within the past two weeks," the Spartan ordered.

"Searching…" Clotho replied. Moments later, the three avatars disappeared, replaced by a video. The video was shaky and the image of low quality, but one could easily see the blue bolts fired from geth weapons, along with the distinctive appearance of the _Nazara_, the black squid-like ship taking up the entirety of the screen.

"When was this taken?" Shepard demanded as he stared fixated at the image.

"This video was a wide-band distress signal sent from the turian colony Choraxis Prime approximately six days ago, Commander," Clotho replied. Shepard mentally swore; Saren had nearly a week's head start on them, he could be anywhere in the galaxy by now. "According to our records, out of the nearly four hundred residents of the colony, less than fifty survived."

"I see," Shepard intoned neutrally. "Send this to Anderson," he ordered, "and alert us the minute you receive any new information on this split-cheeked asshole."

"As you wish, Commander," the three AIs said as one. Shepard opened a channel to the _Normandy_.

"Admiral, we've managed to successfully install the new management and got a lead on the False Prophet," he reported, using the codename designated for Saren.

"Acknowledged, Commander," Anderson voice said through his helmet's radio. "Return to the _Normandy_ so that we can plan our next move. Anderson out." Personally, Shepard thought that there would be little for them to do until they received fresh intelligence on Saren's location, but he kept that opinion to himself, instead turning to his subordinates.

"All right, everyone, our work here is done! Grab what you can and start moving topside," he ordered. As the five Spartans gathered whatever they could carry and began to make their way to the exterior of the ship, Shepard radioed Cortez to prepare to pick them up.

Despite his doubts of the current situation, a part of Shepard felt gleeful. They had Saren's scent, and it would only be a matter of time until they would catch up to him. From there, they would capture the wayward turian and find out everything he knew, including why he needed the geth. If that proved impossible, the Fifth Fleet would be following the _Normandy_ closely, ready to jump in and annihilate Saren and his synthetic army at a moment's notice.

The hunt was on.

* * *

And here you go, my Christmas gift to you. Hope you liked it!

The focus will temporarily shift to the ME side of things in the next chapter.

Have a Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, and don't forget to leave a review.


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